Riding Bareback
by Geogirl
Summary: Irina, pre-Series. Freedom is just an illusion to a girl from Russia. Chapter 9 is finally up!
1. Sunshine

**Riding Bareback **

By GeoGirl

Disclaimer: I do not own anything of Alias or its characters. I'm borrowing them temporarily and will return them as soon as I fix the tire on my bike.

Distribution: SD-1, Cover Me and Fanfiction.net and any one who asks first.

Rated G to R depending on the chapter. Each will be marked appropriately. 

A/N: I'm such a feedback junkie, so help support my habit. Thanks.

**Sunshine** (Rated G)

A slow steady rhythm, up down up down. A cadence similar to a metronome, tick tock tick tock. In out, tick tock, up down. Rhythm. It has its place in life; it permeates through everything and defines time.

She is riding in a borrowed car with her father to the farm in the country. Her mother and Serge remained in Stalingrad, for this was her birthday present. The drive is long and treacherous, her father urging the car faster over the half paved roads; her teeth jarring with every bump and pothole. She looks over to her father; eyes forward on the road and half smoked, brown wrapped cigarette hanging out of his mouth. She wants to talk with him, ask him all sorts of questions, but her father has never been one to really hold onto a conversation. She wonders how he ever won her mother's heart, being so silent. 

There waiting at the gate is an acquaintance of her father. He is old and weather beaten, dressed in what appear to be slightly better than rags. She looks down at her new dress; though second hand, it is better than anything this man has probably ever owned. Wrinkles mar his skin, etched deep by years of hard work, sorrow and unyielding weather. His wave and smile are halfhearted and even less sincere. She could see his family huddled in the doorway of their rough two-room house. Big eyes and prominent knees and elbows hinted at the lack of enough food to go around. This is how it is everywhere. She did not look much better; life was hard, even for those in the government and especially those not quite in favor of the government.

Today is her twelfth birthday, and her father arranged this present for her, for there was nothing he could afford to buy for her. A secret between father and daughter. 

The two men share a few words and a few nods of the head as she looks around. There is a small garden to the side of the house, plants barely breaking through the rich black soil. She spies bits of machinery rusting throughout the waist-high weeds surrounding the remainder of the house. A rooster and some chickens scuttle around the yard, looking as though they are getting better food than the children.

She glances toward the barn and sees why they came all this way; a horse leaning through the rails of the rough pasture, straining to reach the tender shoots of grass on the other side of the fence. She knows immediately what the animal is feeling; she often reaches for things just out of her grasp, so her mother scolds her. It is not a beautiful animal, but a large workhorse. Dull brown and just past his prime, scarred from years of service to his master. Weren't they all? His coat isn't shiny and she sees small scars marking his rump. But for a few short hours, he is to be her winged Pegasus, come from the heavens just for her.

"What is his name?" she asks.

"He has none. He's just a plow horse," the man answered with a shake of his head, disbelief showing on his face. 

"His name is Sunshine," a small voice answers. His daughter; she sounds both younger and older than her appearance. Her threadbare dress filters the sunlight around her, giving shape to the hard conditions in which they all live. Just this side of starvation; it is the way of the small farmers that hadn't joined the collectives. 

"Pappa, help me up," the older girl demands. She will take her prize, as it may be her only chance. She knows enough not to question and therefore chooses to ignore.

She sits there as regally as she could on top of the large horse for a few moments, getting her bearings. She's never been on a horse before but instinctively it feels right. The horse is so large that her feet stick out straight to the sides like a doll; she is unable to bend her knees around its stomach. She grips on tight to the coarse strands of it's mane and turns the horse around to the face the far side of the pasture and gives the horse a nudge. Sunshine begins to move slowly as the sun reaches its zenith in the sky. 

The two head across to the far side of the pasture at a fair trot. Up down, in motion with the rhythm. And the speed begins to increase and she feels as if she is flying. Riding bareback. Her hair whipping behind her as she raises her face to the sunshine. She, the wind, and Sunshine become one and she anticipates the moment when they will break earthly bonds, deceive gravity and fly. Forgotten are the breadlines, the lack of heat in the cold, harsh winters, and her parents fighting over the lack of money. Gone are the second hand clothes, too often patched boots, and gasoline rationing. She is free, alive, warm, and a fairy princess. Flying free, all outside of time and all without constraint. She feels weightless, unlike anything she could ever imagine.

"So this is what freedom feels like," she thinks. And she knows she will never forget.

Sunshine instinctively begins to slow and she then notices the fence looming large and impregnable in front of them. She wills the horse to speed up and jump the fence, setting them both free. 

"Go, go, go!" She leans and whispers in his ear, trying to make him understand that is so much better on the other side. Freedom is just a fence away; she can taste it, sweet like the clover honey at her babushka's. Her heels dig into the horseflesh as she tries again to make the animal listen. But it won't listen to her pleas and stops at the fence line. 

She gives a small scream of frustration and loss; her dream is shattered. With tears glistening in her eyes, she turns the animal around and the animal slowly walks back to the barn. Her hand reaches into her pocket and feels the carrot there. It was going to be a treat for the horse for a dream he gave her, but now, she decides that the animal beneath her is undeserving. She pulls out her hand and doesn't even look as the carrot drops to the ground. 

That fence is now more real to her than anything else she knows. She turns and looks back at it one last time. She faces forward again and looks toward her father, straightens tall and brushes the tears from her eyes. He will never know what she just lost.

She pulls the horse around to the fence and slides down without ceremony. She gives her father a halfhearted smile. 

"Irina, you may ride for a bit longer; I have made all the arrangements."

"No Pappa, I'm done. Thank you for the wonderful gift." And she places a kiss on his cheek. She turns once more to the far fence and sighs. She solemnly walks to the car and sits in the passenger seat, looking straight ahead. Her dream is over and so is her childhood.

She sighs again.  


	2. Atrophy

Chapter 2  
  
Atrophy Rated PG  
  
Darkness has a life of its own, secret and veiled. Irina had been living in the dark for days. She was beginning to know the smell and texture of darkness, heavy and velvety and dangerous. She had lost track of the hours that she had spent in the dark. She was beginning to find comfort in the dark; she felt more aware than she had in years.  
  
The darkness was becoming a blanket, warm and enveloping, helping her drown out all that her heart was screaming. Loss, grief, pain, heartache. Her arms were forgetting the feel of being around those she loved. Irina desperately tried to remember the smoky, salty smell of Jack after lovemaking and the airy, clean scent of Sydney's hair.  
  
She looked into the darkness at her hand, seeing the faint outline. The old women and gypsies used to tell her that if she tried hard enough she could see her aura in the darkness. Red, they told her, was the color of her aura. Dangerous and deceitful, but with the power to change everything. Irina had laughed at the description the first time she had her fortune told. She was 16 and her friends, Svetlana and Masha, took her on a dare. Only now, in the darkness, did she agree. She was dangerous, deadly, and that is why she was confined to this dark, cold room.  
  
The first days of her confinement, Irina had desperately waited for those tiny shafts of light that would filter in when she was given food. The ache she felt when the light was gone and the anticipation of seeing color again made the minutes seem like hours and the hours seem like days. Now, some unknown time later, she had stopped looking for those rare small shafts of light that would filter in under the door. Her eyesight had become so accustomed to the dark that she was began to wonder if any one had ever taken the time to notice the variety in the shades of black and gray that the darkness held.  
  
She likened herself to a cat, with her new night vision. She would become a new secret weapon. Who needs night vision goggles when Irina can see things so easily in the dark now?  
  
Irina was still separating herself from her last incarnation and it was not easy. And she wondered if that was why she had been placed here. She was being forced to forget the life she had. She had to return to Irina and shed Laura's skin. Instead of being here in the dark, Laura would rather be curled up in the big bed at home with Sydney breathing heavily in her sleep, sprawled between herself and Jack. But here she was, Irina, chained to the bed like an animal. Khasinau had often told her that she was forgetting herself and her mission, that she was becoming soft and American. Here, in the dark, she needed to be strong and enduring and Russian. Her blood was colder now, not constantly warmed by Jack's touch. Her mind was turning tough and sharp and deadly, instead of soft and nurturing as with Sydney. Irina knew that in order to survive, she needed to remove and compartmentalize and forget. And she was trying.  
  
She had lost track of the days since she had been put on a plane, still shivering from the icy water, back to Mother Russia, armed guards at her sides. As the plane touched down on Russian soil, little had she known that that day was the last daylight she would see. She was immediately blindfolded, pushed into a car and driven for hours to meet a waiting plane. Another small plane ride in the dark and another car ride had brought her here. Wherever here was. She was placed in this room and then left alone. Meals arrived at random times, never on a consistent schedule. The food was always the same, so she could not identify the time of day by the meal given her. Her body had developed its own circadian cycle to adjust for the lack of the influence of daylight and night.  
  
This was only to be the beginning, Irina knew. The KGB had volumes of written and unwritten methods to entice the cooperation of its citizens that were detained for their own good. They were watching her, she knew, she felt. She rarely spoke, in order to keep them out of her mind. She spent hours prowling her room, doing as many exercises as the chain would allow. She meditated, and when she could she slept.  
  
After the twenty-fifth meal she stopped smelling her unwashed scent.  
  
Some time after her thirty-third meal she stopped longing for a bath and fresh clothes.  
  
However, sleep and dreaming were her downfall. Irina's subconscious would not let her forget about those 10 years. It knew that during those 10 years, Irina had felt the closest thing to freedom since that first ride on a horse. She hoped that her sleep did not betray her. She hoped that she didn't call out in her sleep, reaching for those now out of her grasp.  
  
Somewhere during this metamorphosis, anger had pierced into the fringes of her thoughts, slowly penetrating and filtering through her memories. Hate for her superiors who gave her the assignment in the first place. She loathed America for its wealth and opportunity, for its modern conveniences and its lightness. She resented American people for their open smiles and their perpetual optimism. Fury seethed under her skin at Jack for being so easily deceived and for loving Laura. She felt anger at herself for responding to Jack and the life he offered her. She disgusted herself for wanting it again. She had been so careless and weak, getting pregnant and falling in love with their daughter.  
  
Around the ninety-eighth meal she didn't care any more.  
  
And then after her one hundred and fifteenth meal, the door to her cell crashed open and blinding light filled the room. She cowered in the corner, shielding her tearing eyes with anything she could. She felt the chain fall away from her ankle, and she was brutally pulled from her sanctuary.  
  
TBC 


	3. Shiver

Shiver  
  
The guards dragged her down the hall so fast that she couldn't get her feet underneath her. Sliding and bumping off walls, blind and terrified, she kept struggling in hopes of gaining some control over the situation. Her eyes kept watering and the floor undulated through her tears. She heard someone cursing in a myriad of languages and realized it was her own voice that she heard. The gray walls and floors stretched on forever and her shoulder joints ached as the fingers dug further into her upper arms.  
  
She was bounced off several more walls, right turn, left turn, before she was thrown onto hard green tile.  
  
Before she could get her bearings and stand, she was knocked back to the floor by blasts of freezing water. Over and over she tried to stand, only to be knocked back again by the streams of cold water. Needles of cold penetrated her skin, her eyes and head felt as though they were about to explode. She was completely frozen through and continued to sputter, attempting to keep from swallowing water.  
  
Eventually she was huddled in the corner of the room with her back to the heavy spray, teeth chattering and her muscles clenched, pulled in, trying to find warmth.  
  
The water suddenly stopped and she instantly slumped against the wall and huddled into a ball. She heard footsteps slosh through the water towards her and she curled tightly inward. Hands reached for her and she shrank away as much as she could. Again, she was lifted and cruelly yanked from wherever she was into another green tiled room.  
  
Sharp, ripping sounds tore through the air and cold hit her frigid skin. She began shivering violently as her clothes were torn from her body. Her skin was assaulted with hard bristle brushes, harsh detergents and leering eyes as the guards scrubbed her naked flesh. Her arms and legs were stretched straight and held firmly by a set of guards while the brushes scratched at every inch of her body. The scrubbing stopped abruptly and she was again assaulted with water; buckets full of stinging, detergent laden water.  
  
Still naked, she was picked up and carried into another room and tossed onto a straight-backed chair. Her hands and feet were shackled to the chair and her head tilted sharply upward. The whine of electricity buzzed around her ears. She cried out as clumps of her hair fell around her as the guards shaved her head.  
  
A wail of a wounded animal tore through the air.  
  
After her hair lay in piles at her feet, the guards released her from the chair and threw a pile of gray-green garments at her and stared at her with hungry eyes as she shivered and tried to dress herself. 


	4. Candlelit Shadows

Candlelit Shadows 

Irina brushed off her best gray dress, removing the lint and as many stains as she would work out.  Today, she was graduating from school and she wanted to look her best.  She snuck into her parents room and borrowed a splash of her Baba's (grandmother) perfume and ran it trough her hair.  Papa had to work and Momma had died three years prior, so today only her Baba would see her receive her certificate and see her win the medal for the highest cumulative score.   

Today, she was an adult and she was uncharacteristically unsure of her next step in life. Irina could go to University if she found enough money to pay for her books and supplies.  She had already received entrance into the Engineering Program at Leningrad University, but didn't find that option very appealing.  She had tired of schooling and was looking for a challenge.  

She would love to have the chance to travel everywhere and anywhere.  She longed to leave the grayness of daily life in Leningrad, of food rations and dirty public transportation.  She wanted hot water anytime she wished and new clothes.  She hated the weekly stint in the bread lines and longed for a time when she could walk through a market and buy all types of fruits and vegetables.

The ceremony was predicable and lengthy.  She received her award with feign humility and gave the standard gracious acceptance.  Baba cried and hugged her profusely and introduced Irina to anyone that would listen.  Irina tolerated the attention for only so long and persuaded Baba to leave.  As they were leaving the building, two men approached Irina.

"Ms. Derevko, could we speak with you for a moment?  We work for the government and wish to make you an offer."

"May I see your papers please?" she asked.  Irina wanted to double-check their credentials.  Their papers confirmed their identities and Irina sat Baba on the bench next to the fountain and followed the two men over to another bench on the edge of the park.

"Ms. Derevko, I am Agent Smilokoff and this is Agent Ivanic of the KGB.  The KGB has been watching you for several years now and we would like you to attend our 6 month training program near Simferopol."

"Why was the KGB watching me?" 

"You first came to our attention based on scores on your tests in your 10th year.  We have several questions on those tests that have proven to be good indicators for identifying potential agents.  You scored well on all the questions."

"What kind of training would be I undergo?"

"You would undergo physical training and martial arts training.  You would learn to use various weapons.  You would be trained in a variety of surveillance methods and would undergo a variety of psychological tests.  At the end of the six months, your supervisors would determine if you should continue with the program or not.  If you are asked to continue, then there will be another year of intense training."

"If I decide not to pursue the training after the six months, what will be my options?"  Irina was leery of accepting the offer.

"You will still be eligible to enter the Engineering program at University, if you choose.  Also, your family will be compensated for the time you remain in training.  You will be living in a government dormitory with several other trainees and you will be fed and clothed at the government's expense.  You need not bring anything with you; you will be supplied with everything you need.

Please consider our offer and we will contact you in two days for your decision.  Thank you for your time."  Smilokoff and Ivanic stood, nodded and walked away leaving Irina deep in thought.  After a few moments, she got up and collected Baba and they headed to catch the bus to their apartment.

***

The decision to accept the offer for training was ultimately an easy one.  Her father, for once, didn't even voice an opinion.  He sat at the table, reading the paper and refused to make eye contact with her.  Baba, on the other hand, wailed and moaned and wouldn't speak to Irina for days when she announced her decision; which made Irina more certain that the decision was correct.

"I really feel this is my best option for now Baba."  She held the older woman's calloused hand and hoped she looked convincing.  "And just think of the extra money I can send home.  I won't need much more than some pocket money because the government is housing and feeding us during the duration of the training."

"I am worried for you, Irina.  Once the KGB has their hands on you, they will never let you go.  Your friends will never trust you again."  Baba shook her head, the worry lines on her face getting ever deeper.

"I was told that once I completed the six month training, it would be my supervisor's and my decision on whether to continue or not.  If I choose not to continue, I was promised that my spot at University would be waiting.  I cannot see a particularly bad side to this opportunity.  And as for my friends, I really don't have many that are close.  Once they leave for University, they will forget about me.  Sasha is to be married soon and will be too occupied with her new husband and babies and her mother-in-law to give me a second thought.  No, I'm going to do this."  Irina rose and looked quite adamant about her decision.

Baba continued to mutter under her breath and shake her head slowly.  It was no use to change Irina's mind once it was made and Baba knew from years of experience.  Father had listened to the entire conversation without contributing, pretending to hide behind the newspaper.  Only a final resigned sigh gave him away.

So Irina packed up her few belongings, being careful to minimize the wrinkles and maximize what she could fit into the worn secondhand suitcase.  She kissed and hugged both her father and grandmother, holding on tightly to the older woman for a few moments longer.  Then she walked out the door and silently shut it behind her.

Neither Father nor Baba saw her to the train station, as she had requested.  She stood on the platform with one battered bag at her feet.  The steam rose up from the sewer grate and the entire station smelled of coal, unwashed people and rotting food.  However, this place marked a transition from dependency to independence and Irina was savoring the moment.  Her right knee began to shake and she shifted her weight to the right to stop the tremors.  

Boarding began and Irina climbed into the nearest car and claimed a comfortable sleeping chair for the overnight journey.  Her bags were stowed above her head and she leaned into the window, staring at the steam rising from the stack of the train.  She dozed off to the rocking motion of the train and was woken up sometime later by the ticket collector.  She handed him her ticket, which he stared at and then at her, and then stamped.  He gave the ticket back to her with a pronounced "hrmpf".

"Enjoy your _trip_ to Simferopol, miss," he stated sarcastically.

"Thank you," she questioned.  She wondered if he knew of her reason for going to Simferopol and if he was already resenting her for working for the KGB.  She has received similar reactions from her friends. 

She brushed the negative thoughts from her mind and settled back to watch the countryside roll by.  She had never really traveled out of Leningrad, so this trip to the south was her first real adventure and she planned on savoring it as much as possible.  She bought a sandwich and a bottle of tepid water from the food vendor and slowly ate as the sun set in the distance.  She again fell asleep, satiated with the food and rocked by the train, only to wake up again in the middle of the night.

The lights on the trained had been dimmed to allow for sleep and the entire car was bathed in an eerie yellow glow.  Irina stared out the window into the gray night and watched as the shadows of the trees and houses passed by.   

Then, the images morphed into beastly and menacing images, reminding her of the monsters she used to see as a child in the shadows created by the candles in the kitchen of the apartment.    The shapes would shift and change from bears to wolves to trolls.  The bears arched and raised and reached for her.  The wolves sneered and growled, ready to bite.  The blanket gave Irina the protection she needed and she rubbed the medal around her neck for luck.

Now, many years later Irina did not believe in luck and she was no longer afraid of the shadows.  She no longer wore the medal around her neck.  She took comfort in their every changing appearance, and hoped that her life would soon change as the result of her decision.  One of the main reasons she chose this path was to avoid the becoming part of the mundane and ordinary.  Irina had always felt that her life was meant to be extraordinary, special and blinding and this was how she was going to achieve her dreams.  The train pulled into the station at Simferopol as the sun crested the horizon.  She rubbed her eyes, stretched and smiled. 


	5. Pierce

Pierce 

Warm and rushing blood filled my ears and my eyes feel as if they are sealed with cement.  My head lolls to the side and the room spins like a top.  Buzzing, harsh and sharp cut through the rush and poke into my brain.  I shake them away and return to the soft, warm place in my mind.

"Irina."

Shake it away and return to the downy soft.

"Irina," louder and sharper.

"Irina," sharp, stinging and cold.  Cutting into my mind and sting my flesh.  My eyes snap open.

"Russia welcomes you back, Irina."  A blurry face hovers over me and my eyes try to focus.  My head drops to the side and I lift my hand…I can't lift it, something is holding my hand down.  I lift again and can't again.

"Stop struggling Irina, you can not move."

My body slumps into the hard surface beneath me.

"Let me up," my voice slurs and scratches my throat.

"No, Irina, just listen now."

The air goes silent and then begins to crackle with electricity.  Hissing starts and fills up the air.  

"You have been gone from the arms of Russian too long.  And she has been worried that you have forgotten her.  Russia is a loving mother, but strict.  If you disappoint her, you will be punished.  Do you understand?"  A face comes in close and rough, fetid breath rains down.  I nod because that is what they want and it is the only thing I can do.

"You have been a disappointment, you became too fond of your assignment, didn't you."  The voice presses on as the words stick in my throat.  "Your marriage and your child were a distraction.  Ten years is too long to be away and we're going to make you remember."

"No" my voice squeaks.  I feel fire course through my bones and screams erupt from my parched throat.  Laughter seeps through the pain and I succumb.

***

My skin jumps off my bones and I am jarred awake.  The warm fuzziness is gone and searing cold pierces my senses.  I am sitting strapped to a chair and pictures flash rapidly in front of me.  Pictures of dead bodies; here is one I recognize.  I know the next one.  I was the agent of death for all of these and I try to turn away.  A rough calloused hand grabs my chin and pulls my head back to see the pictures flashing on the screen.  Death, death, death and Sydney.

My baby.  I want to touch her but my hands are tied.  Tears start to form and I will them back.

Then the picture flashes away.  Red Square, Lenin, Khrushchev, the Red Army, St. Basil's.  An image of Jack and me on our wedding day flashes before my eyes.  Happy memories replaced abruptly by an image of a burning body.  

Sights from a gulag, starving bodies, hard labor, bare feet struggling through snow.

"Jack Bristow was a fool and you took advantage of his love for you.  You stole from him, you betrayed him, and he hates you for it.  He has been imprisoned because of you; he has been separated from your daughter because of you.  Your daughter is without parents because of you.  She has no mother and does not feel love.  You have ruined her life."

Tears roll down my face and I hope that he is not right. I hope that Jack and Sydney are safe.  I hope that my captors don't see my concern.

"Russia has called you home and you will never see them again."

Lights go dark and I am left alone, haunted.

***

"So, tell me Irina, when did you stop remembering who you were?"

"I always remembered.  You would not let me forget Alex.  Every time you called I remembered.  Every time I was ordered to kill, I remembered.  I did not forget."

I am regarded with a sharp hand to my cheek and my head snaps to the left.

"Did you know we watched you?  Did you know the house was bugged?  Did you know we still follow your daughter?"

Hairs on the back of my neck rise up and I force myself not to show any emotion.

"She is such a pretty little girl.  Loves and misses her dead mother.  Living with a nanny.  You know the CIA has charged your husband with treason.  They think he betrayed America and killed those agents.  He will never be with your daughter again."

The silence became deafening and I feel hot breath next to my ear.

"And neither will you," my handler whispers.  And I shiver. 

***

For several days I am left alone to think and remember.  

***

The guards walk by often and stare; I know they want me.  Giving into one of them might mean an easier time for me and might allow me to obtain more information about my time here and Rambaldi.  However, giving in might invite more attention than I want.  I will not give in, not yet.  

But perhaps if I can find a use for one of the guards and find one that would not want to share.  I learned at Simferopol that this is often one of the most effective ways to have control over a difficult situation.  I would rather not resort to it, but Jack forgive me, I will.

***

"What is your name?"

"Irina Derevko."  

"Where were you born?"

"Stalingrad, Russia."  

"How many years have you been an operative for the KGB?"

"I was recruited at age 18 and have been an active operative for 16 years."

"What was your mission in America?"

"To meet Jonathan Donahue Bristow, become an integral part of his life and obtain copies of any CIA documents that he might have in his possession, especially those related to Project Christmas."

"How many years were you in Jack Bristow's life?"

"Ten years."

"How did the relationship progress?"

"I met him in Washington D.C. and we started dating.  Approximately one and one half years later we were married.  Two years after that we moved to Charleston, West Virginia and another year later, I became pregnant with our daughter."

"Were you ordered to abort this child?"  

"I was, but I was stopped by Jack when he followed me to the doctor's office."

"What type of information did you obtain concerning CIA projects without Jack Bristow's knowledge?"

"I obtained information concerning the organization of the office in which he work.  I received information concerning Project Christmas, which was a way to identify and train young children to become future spies.  I also obtained information concerning specific missions, which helped our operatives be more successful in obtaining the information before the CIA operative." 

"Did you love Jack Bristow?"

"Jack Bristow was a fool."


	6. Working It

Working It 

The wig was hot and scratchy and Irina questioned if it was human hair at all.  It felt more like horsehair; but as long as it gave a good impression to the video camera she didn't mind.  Her hair hadn't grown sufficiently yet to be presentable during the debriefing, according to Khasinau.  She had been allowed to shower and was given new, well at least to her, clothing to wear.  For the past few weeks, she had been receiving enough food to remove the sunken cheekbones and the dull eyes she had inherited from months of KGB hospitality.   The videotape of the debriefing would undoubtedly be studied by psychoanalysts and sent up the chain of command.  

She wondered how often she needed to say that she never loved Jack and Sydney, that their family was only a mission, until she could convince herself.  Irina was certain that it would take a long time, a lifetime.  She only hoped that she was convincing enough for everyone else.  

The interview was so well rehearsed that it breezed by without effort.  As soon as she walked out of the room the niceties were stripped from her and she was informed that she would be spending the next five years in Kashmir, in a "rehabilitation facility".

Apparently she wasn't convincing enough and the KGB needed to get her back in the right frame of mind.  Hard labor would be her constant companion for the duration of her stay in that hellhole.  But Irina knew there was always a way to work within the system, and was an expert at finding those ways.  

Five years.

***

As soon as Cuvee saw her he vowed that she would be his and he wasn't one for making idle threats.  First he thought he'd try to make her come to him willingly.  She was like a feral cat and he felt he was the one to tame her.  If that didn't work, he was not, in any way, opposed to using force.  It had worked well for him in the past.    

She had been in America many years and he understood that when she first came back from that assignment she had been subjected to what the KGB politely referred to as "re-acquaintance therapy".  To his recollection, this therapy usually turned the recipient into a fairly docile sort.  This didn't seem to be the case for Detainee 789342, Irina Derevko.  But underneath her untamed exterior he saw a bit of something poking through.  The closest word he could come up with was longing.  Longing for what, he wasn't sure, but he knew enough to take advantage of that.

He watched her carefully, Irina observed, more so than any of the other women in the prison.  Then again, those other women had been here for years and neatly stripped of most of their dignity and humanness.  She knew he wanted her and she had come to the brutal conclusion that he may be the only way to make it through her captivity here, if those other women were any indication.  So she began to leave him clues, baited the hook and drew him in.  Hook, line and sinker.

Every time he approached her, one phase popped into his mind. 

"_Here kitty, kitty, kitty._"

She was sitting on what passed for a bed in her cell, reading the tattered copy of Anna Karinina he had left in the dining area.   Pages were missing, but he thought that probably didn't matter to her.  He approached her cell cautiously, prepared to offer her a chance to escape from the hard labor, a figurative bowl of cream.

"I have been assigned the task of conducting research and translating communiqué's for the regional command and I have decided you will help me, as you are one of the only ones here with any intelligence whatsoever.  We'll begin in the morning."

Irina's head stayed bowed over her book as he talked, a small smile playing at her lips.  She waited several moments after his proclamation to lift her eyes.  She narrowed them briefly, nodded her head and returned to her book.

Cuvee was dejected by her reaction, having envisioned her gleefulness upon receipt of his generous offer.  He felt summarily dismissed.  She would need to be taught a lesson, and soon.

He turned on his heels and walked off.  

Irina lifted her head again and a smile flickered across her face.

***

"This pile is satellite images.  Go through them and identify our facilities, the local government and American facilities.  Classify each as benign, potential threats and definite threats.  List each by coordinate and plot on the corresponding topographic map."  Irina eyed the 2-foot pile of aerial photographs with veiled enthusiasm.  

The look on Cuvee's face told her that he didn't expect her to get through the stack anytime in the near future.  She, on the other hand, had enjoyed this task in training and had become fairly proficient at it.  She looked forward to surprising him.

He watched her bend over the pile and she began to organize the photographs.  She pulled out a stereoscope and set up her space with pens, paper and grease pencils.  She dove right into the task without question, baffling him.  He soon tired of watching her work and started reading through the pile of memorandums from Red Square.  

She worked steadily in silence the entire morning and into the afternoon without stopping to eat.  Cuvee brought in his remnants from lunch and put them on the table next to her.  She gingerly picked at the food without raising her head or acknowledging his actions.  Frustrated, Cuvee returned to the missives and tried to ignore her.

The dinner siren sounded and Irina finally stood up and stretched.  She made neat piles of the work and walked out of the door without looking at him.  Cuvee stood and went to the door and watched her walk down the hall.  He stood there for a long time after she turned the corner to the dining room.  

He turned back to the office, lit a cigarette and went to the window.

"In time, kitty.  In time."

He took a heavy drag off the cigarette and stubbed it out on the back of his hand.


	7. Perihelion

**Perihelion (Flying Too Close to the Sun) **

WARNING:  Rated  HEAVY R.  This is not for the kiddies because of violence and non-consensual sex.  It is not graphic, but the essence is there.  Please heed the warning.

She reminded herself that it was just like being a swallow agent.  You never really signed up for the job, but the upper echelons would decide your fate anyway.  And however you managed to get through it, detachment, drink, drugs, was fine until you had to relive it for the report.  Then the guilt or remorse got you and you had to mentally slap yourself to get past what you had to do.

The first time was perfunctory, just as she had thought it might be. Two guards had taken her after the morning meal to his office for another day of work.  Cuvee was not in the office when she arrived and, as was policy, the guards stood inside with her.  She sat at the table and began translating conversations off the short wave radio channel that she had been monitoring for days.  Time ticked by and just before noon Cuvee came into the office, smelling of cigars and stale alcohol.  She looked up just long enough to determine that he was just coming in from an all night bender.  He came up behind her and breathed heavily on her neck and she felt his eyes bore into the back of her skull.  She steeled herself against what she knew was coming; her time was up.

Forgetting completely about the guards in the room, he grabbed her by the shoulder and swung her around to face him.  His lips and mouth assaulted hers and his tongue probed mercilessly.  He grabbed her arm, never quitting the attack on her mouth and pulled her to the low table in the middle of the room.  He pulled at her top, tearing the buttons off and his hands began their assault. 

Cuvee had been quick and indifferent to her.  There had been no foreplay and she had been tight and dry. He forced himself into her and grunted away like a rutting pig at her grandfather's farm. She bit her lip to keep that image from making her laugh. 

He ended with a final moan and noticing, for the first time, her disassociation and lack of involvement and he hit her.  And 

hit her, until her right eye swelled shut and the other one began to tear involuntarily.  He really didn't injure her, she had been worse off more times then she could count, but it was painful just the same.  She would remember next time to act as though she was enjoying him sweat on top of her and use her like some prostitute.  She wouldn't make the same mistake again.

No, what really hurt, and not only in the physical sense, was his revenge.  The beating had been to show her his ownership of her  (or so he thought).  The revenge for not begging for his attention, his gratitude was that when he had finished the first time, he offered her to the two guards.  

She rebelled against the instinct to fight back, knowing full well that fighting would get her killed or at least illicit more revenge.  She turned her head to the side as one guard, then the other, groped and slobbered on her.  Smells of unwashed bodies, stale bread and vodka wafted around her as she tried desperately to find a silent, peaceful place in her mind.  She traced the water stains on the ceiling.   Just as the first guard was about to make his final assault and enter her, Cuvee hit him in the temple with the butt of the guard's discarded rifle.

"She's mine.  Remember that and make sure everyone else does too.  If I find out that anyone, and I mean anyone, tries to take a turn at our pretty one, I will kill them."  Cuvee looked like a wild beast guarding his latest meal.

She lay there for a few moments after the guards left, coming back to the present.  Finally she got up and gathered the remains of her clothes around her. She ran her hands through her hair to remove the tangles.  She held the shirt closed because the buttons were missing and headed for the door.   Cuvee grabbed her arm and pulled her to him and placed a hard dry kiss on her bruised lips.

"Just remember darling, you are mine.  If you behave, this will be the one and only time I share."  She slowly turned away and headed out the door.  She held her head high as she walked down the hall, her tattered clothes hanging off her frame.

She walked deliberately back to her cell and lay on the bunk until it got dark.  Dinner did not entice her off the mattress and her eyes did not waver from the ceiling.  To anyone passing by, it appeared as though she was studying the cracks that the spider webbed the plaster above her.  Under the cover of night she cried silent tears of defeat into her pillow.  Silent sobs were masked by the soft snores of the other inmates.

In her head she knew that she couldn't have really prevented what Cuvee had done.  If she had fought back, he still would have raped her, but she knew that he could have easily killed her.  Same as with the actions of the guards.  But that did not alleviate the sense of guilt that wracked her heart, the utter unworthiness and dirtiness that pervaded her skin.  She felt completely alone and broken.  A brief thought of Jack skipped through her mind and she reminded herself that now he would never have her back.  This surrender of her body she had been frozen deep to the core.  The last part of Laura that she had coveted in the deep corner of her heart had just been murdered and she mourned for the loss.

The need to remove their fingerprints overwhelmed her and in the darkness she searched for the rough rag and soap she had horded.  The icy water coming out of the small sink in her cell was no more than a trickle, but it was enough.  She maniacally scrubbed her flesh raw, cloth burns forming on her breasts and abdomen.  Tiny pinpricks of blood seeped through the raw flesh further below.

Guilt.

Hate.

Sorrow.

Loathing.

Despair.

Anger.

Resentment.

Ache.

Cold, naked, and grieving she huddled in the corner of her cell.  Between the bed and the far wall, she occupied the shadows, as she felt was her place.  When the cold pale light of morning broke through the window, she got up, put on her tattered clothes and sat cross-legged on the bed.  She stared at the far wall, unmoving for the entire day as her brain worked overtime.  First pictures of her killing the guards and Cuvee, in a thousand different and horrifying ways, flashed through her mind.  A few brief thoughts of killing herself seeped in at the corners.  Tearful and sad reunions with Jack and Sydney crashed through, all ending in her being declared "dead to them". 

Cuvee did not require her presence that day, but he did send around an undamaged shirt and pair of pants.  She did not waiver from her position throughout the day, even when the guards brought in food, and as darkness fell, so the tears started again.

Sleep eluded her for the second night in a row, her thoughts running a marathon in her mind.  Midway through the following morning, her body gave in to the need for sleep and she slumped against the wall in exhaustion.  She slept 30 hours straight, during which Cuvee was concerned enough to check on her several times.

She awoke slowly, with a new dawning of herself, stronger, tougher and as emotionless as possible.  IT was the only way she could distance herself from what had been done to her, what she hadn't prevented.  What she knew had to happen for her survival , but what her mind resisted comprehending.  Never again would any man break her or take advantage of her.  She was the master of her destiny and she was in complete control; now and always.  Cuvee would become her unwitting pawn.

She returned to her work with Cuvee, assisting in the translations, map reading and other odd tasks.  To the outward observer, she became a willing lover to Cuvee, using him as she saw fit.  He was none the wiser that he had lost control.  She rarely smiled, rarely engaged in conversation.  She had become even more introverted and Cuvee thought he had broken her.  He felt powerful and relished in the control he was so mistakenly thought he had.  The more power he sought, the more Irina gained.  If the other inmates were afraid of Cuvee, it would be certain that they did not want to get on the bad side of his consort.  In her own way, she ruled the prison with an iron fist.  

One guard, a transferee from another detainment facility, crept in her cell one night and tried to use her.  She fought back and the guard survived only long enough to have Cuvee put a bullet through his brain.  She felt nothing but a fleeting sense of uneasiness and she reveled in her control.  

Months later Cuvee shared a communiqué from Moscow concerning several artifacts that had been found and traced to an ancient and obscure Italian inventor.  The name Rambaldi scorched her ears.  She remembered Jack talking of the man and how this inventor had enthralled Arvin Sloane.  She recalled the discussions they had whether Rambaldi was a true visionary or not.  She dove into researching the man and his inventions, with Cuvee's blessings of course.  Irina had found a new passion.


	8. Flint and Steel in Hand, Strike When Rea...

Flint and Steel in Hand, Strike When Ready  
  
Odessa wasn't exactly pretty this time of the year but, compared to the prison in Kashmir, Irina was in heaven. Today had been a good day, not too warm but sunny. She had spent the entire length of it sitting on the beach, wrapped in blankets, watching the tide come in and out. There was no one else around, just she and the seagulls dipping and rolling on the wind, screeching and twittering to each other. It was a luxury to sit in one spot with nothing else around. No walls, no guards and no Cuvee. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, drawing the salty mist inward and expelling the musty odor that was prison. Just by breathing she was being cleansed.   
  
Her first few days back from Kashmir she spent in the bath, washing away five years of filth in bubbly warm water. She sat in the tub for hours on end until her skin pruned and the water became colder than the air. The bath, she hoped, would erase the pain and dirtiness of five years; wash away the reminders of Cuvee. No matter how many times she refilled the tub, the image of Cuvee grunting over her would not go away. Irina made the decision that he no longer mattered; what he did to her no longer mattered, because she survived. Survival was all that mattered.  
  
She went to the market and bought some second hand clothes, bright and colorful, and burned the tattered gray cloth that she had been wearing when she left the prison. She bought as much fresh fruit and vegetables as she could afford, cheese so fresh it was still wrapped in cloth and a good bottle of vodka.   
  
She spent as much time as she could outdoors at the parks or here at the Black Sea. She inhaled deeply the scents and sounds of the Russia she knew.   
  
It was almost like freedom.  
  
Fleeting and elusive.  
  
Tomorrow she returned to her old life, the one the KGB was still controlling. Now that she has finished her "reconditioning", they were eager to see if she could be a functioning agent. Irina knew that she could, as long as it didn't require her to become part of a family again. She had one already, thank you very much, however it had been formed and no matter e how many times she was told and she repeated that it was only a job and it wasn't, isn't, real. She was ready for anything, her edges sharp and her heart dull.  
  
Tomorrow she returned to Simferopol, back to where it all began. She had been ordered to report there so that they could test her capabilities. It would be just like her initial training, except accelerated. Irina was under the impression that the generals had a mission in mind for her; they just needed to make sure she was physically and mentally ready.   
  
She knew she was not quite there.   
  
One thing about prison is that she couldn't keep up with her marksmanship, which becomes less precise without use. She needed to feel the familiar weight of a gun in her hand, squeeze off round after round to get back that deadly accuracy that she had been known for. She felt as though some of her skills had become rusty and dull, whereas others had become so sharp they drew blood. She was now a complete master of her emotions; nothing could penetrate that armor any more.  
  
Though she would have rather spent more time in Odessa, watching the waves, returning to work was starting to become almost appealing.   
  
Almost.  
  
In the darkest corner of her mind and heart, shielded and walled, the place she longed to be was in a pale yellow bedroom, half way around the world, reading the newspaper with Jack at her side and Sydney styling her hair.   
  
That was heaven.   
  
That was freedom.   
  
That would never, ever, happen again.  
  
***  
  
Her first few days back at training were difficult, not because of the training, but in having to deal with the instructors and the other trainees. Most just stared and gave her wide berth wherever she went. Many of them whispered and pointed, some even daring to speak their thoughts aloud. Many of the instructors were openly hostile towards her. Here was one of the former stars of the KGB spy machine trying to return from such disgrace.   
  
She soon proved to them that she was still one to emulate and to fear. Her time in prison had given her a hardness and a ruthlessness that the instructors both admired and pointed out to their students. This was an example of a great operative; one who had the ability to detach emotionally and complete the mission with deadly efficiency and accuracy.  
  
No one became her friend; friends were dangerous. Hardly anyone spoke to her civilly and she did not encourage contact. Irina kept to herself, selecting the isolated tables or desks during the classroom periods.   
  
To her surprise, one day Khasinau visited the training facility. She was pleased to see a familiar face, someone to talk with and to share stories. He came to inform her that although he would no longer be her handler, it had been decided that she was fit to return to operational status. The job to which she was assigned was not glamorous, was not dangerous and was one of the most detested jobs available. But it would give her days purpose and give her time to reconnect with her contacts.  
  
She was going to China to handle the security for the Russian Embassy. Khasinau also instructed her that, although there was no reason to suspect that the Chinese were hiding anything from the Russians, their allies, it wouldn't be discouraged if Irina did some unauthorized checking. Of course, if she were caught, she would not be recognized by the Russian government and would most likely be executed.  
  
Irina knew better than to refuse the assignment; it was an olive branch of sorts. She could spend some time doing her own private research on Rambaldi, anyway. It was rumored that some of his artifacts had been found in and around China. Yes, this assignment might not be so bad after all. And, if she could bide her time and prove her loyalty, she might get a better mission in the near future.   
  
***  
  
The party was winding down and Irina was relieved. The exchange she was there to oversee had gone off without a hitch; the embassy personnel were none the wiser. Chen Yao Xing eyed her up and down and started to come her way. Maybe it was his position as head of Internal Security for the Beijing District that made him feel so powerful and so sure that Irina was his for the taking, but she was in no mood to rebuff politely yet another time. Any other man at the Chinese embassy would have not pursued her further after the public rebuff just a few days ago, their pride would not allow it. Apparently, Chen did not see the need in saving face. He had been hounding her since she started the job almost a year ago and looked as though he would never give up until she gave in.  
  
Just as Chen made his way to where she was sitting, someone sat on the settee next to her. She tried valiantly to mask the surprise.  
  
"Well, hello darling?" Sloane murmured, pausing for her to fill in the name.  
  
"Irina. I am surprised to see you here." She knew full well that he wasn't on the guest list and that the CIA would be sending him in as an agent for anything. Sloane was always a thinker, not a doer.   
  
Chen stood there as if waiting for Irina to dismiss the other man. Irina sighed with impatience, stood and in Chinese asked that Chen give her and her good friend some time alone. Chen looked quite shocked at this impertinence and relayed his disgust with her treatment of him to Irina and her companion. Sloane insulted the man expertly in Chinese and Chen stormed off in a huff.  
  
"Irina." He picked up her hand, bent over and kissed it. "Lovely to see you again. I have been missing you since Laura's death."  
  
"Arvin, what brings you to Beijing? And how is Emily?" Sloane stood up, never releasing her hand and puller her to the dance floor. She went willingly so as not to arouse attention from the guards.  
  
"My darling wife is fine, but she misses her friend. I am in Beijing on business, if you are interested. I believe for the same reason you are here?"  
  
"I don't know about you Arvin, but I am handling security for the Russian Embassy and I know for certain you were not on the guest list tonight."  
  
He looked at her intently, a small smile played at his lips. "Ah, so this mission is the best use of someone with your talents according to the KGB. Security work, it must be so rewarding."  
  
"It is. What brings the CIA to Beijing?" she whispered near his ear. She didn't feel like alerting the rest of the patrons and security team that a CIA agent was crashing the party; the paperwork alone gave her headaches.  
  
"Dearest Irina, you haven't heard then. I left the CIA." He paused as if considering what to say next. "What do you know of the Alliance of Twelve?"  
  
"Ah, so that's it. I believe it's a group of independents trying to gain control in intelligence, guns and drugs. My superiors do not give them much credence or chance of becoming more than a nuisance."  
  
"How wrong they are."  
  
He twirled her around the dance floor in silence her mind analyzing the situation. She reined her curiosity in and waited for Arvin to make the next move. He guided them out to a window balcony and stepped outdoors, drawing her with him.  
  
"We are always in need of a few good men, or women, as they say. Strictly on an as needed basis. The money is quite good."  
  
He slipped a business card out from the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and placed it in the neckline of her dress.  
  
"I hope to hear from you."   
  
He began to walk away, turned and added, "Jack has never recovered from his wife's death, the poor thing, and his daughter is getting so big. Emily and I just dote on her and think of her almost as if she were our own. You should have seen her performance in the Christmas pageant; it was priceless."  
  
With that he wove his way into the crowd, leaving Irina on the balcony, shaking with murderous rage. 


	9. Gestation

Gestation (Chapter 9)  
  
Irina took the glass of vodka that was being offered and took a small sip, not waiting for the toast to finish. Cuvee had been droning on for several minutes and she had completely lost interest in what he was saying. She stared at the fuzzy black and white telecast and contemplated its meaning.  
  
"So with that I say, to the Beginning of a new era." Cuvee stood and raised his vodka high and invited those few around him to do the same.  
  
"To the Beginning," the small gathering repeated, clinking their glasses together and drank. No one noticed that Irina's reaction was delayed a few seconds, and no one noticed that she had only mouthed the words.  
  
She leaned in closer to the television and turned up the volume as she watched her entire world change. Gorbechev had just, in theory, announced the end of the Soviet Union. And, more importantly, he signaled the end of the KGB. Irina was confident that a new group within the new government was just waiting in the wings to fill the void.  
  
The cooperative around her was already plotting to increase their position within the world of espionage as the world she knew just dissolved. She was awoken from her reverie by vodka sloshing over her hand as one of her compatriots filled her glass for another toast.  
  
Irina's body ached with weariness and exertion, yet she smiled. Khasniau looked at her, the corners of his lips twitching.  
  
"It was gratifying to get out in the field again," she answered his silent question. She inspected the cleaned gun, and when it met her scrutiny she placed it back into its case. "I've spent too many days and months meeting with our suppliers and working on the financing. I miss the work," she shrugged.  
  
Khasinau returned to his inventory, not making eye contact when she spoke again.  
  
"Had I known that the cooperative would task me with the deal making and financing aspects, I would have argued. I am better than many of these fools in the planning and strategy of the missions that I am talking."  
  
"You can be very persuasive, Irina. And it is not that you haven't been heavy handed on occasion." He tried to be as diplomatic as possible, knowing full well that Irina was the most dangerous of the group, if provoked. He also knew that it was just a matter of time before she was in control. She just needed the right opportunity and the confidence to take it. The slumped figure tied to the chair began to stir and Khasinau delivered a right cross to the man's jaw without turning. A crack of the man's head hitting the back of the chair resounded through the room like thunder cutting through the night. Irina's head slowly rose from her work, looked at the motionless figure and then she resumed cleaning the next weapon in their arsenal.  
  
"Let him sleep through the night, maybe he'll be more cooperative in the morning. Once you are done, Irina, get some sleep. I'll take the first watch; I'm not tired yet."  
  
Irina nodded and handed the Glock back to Khasinau. She lay down on the discarded mattress in the corner of the dilapidated building they occupied and within moments was asleep. Khasinau smiled at the sleeping figure and took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lit up and turned the page of the newspaper.  
  
Khasinau woke the next morning to the sight of Irina stalking her prey. She paced around Mateo as a lioness eyeing up her next meal. Mateo, for his part, was either putting on a brave front or the previous days beatings had left him so dazed that he was completely unaware of the danger he was in. Irina leaned in close beside Mateo's head and spoke in a low soft tone.  
  
"Again, where are the weapons stored? Tell us and this can all end."  
  
Mateo shook his head, moaning and muttering to himself. Irina began pacing again, letting the silence eat away at his nerves. Khasinau watched the tableau before him with admiration and decided to stay out of her way.  
  
Khasinau was momentarily blinded when light from the broken window refracted off the steel blade in Irina's hand.  
  
Ah. Now she is getting down to business. We should have results soon.  
  
Mateo gasped with fear as the blade was pressed to his cheek, the edge just making contact with his skin. From behind him her other hand snuck around his neck, a caress of seduction traced his neck and chest.  
  
"I'm beginning to tire of this little game, Mateo. All we require is a location and you can go home to that pretty wife of yours. I even promise not to tell your associates that you gave up their cache. Think of it as a donation to our cause."  
  
The blade gripped his skin and found purchase; warm blood rolled down his face and soon began making a pattern on his pant leg.  
  
"They'll kill me," he sputtered, the sight of his own blood convincing him that cooperation may save his life in this moment, but also may doom him in the near future. He tried to reason in his mind who was more dangerous, this cooperative or his associates. Irina walked around to the front of the bound man, the blade now trailing down his chest. An angry welt followed the path downward, the tip of the steel coming to rest just above his belt buckle, the pressure increasing in minute increments.  
  
"I don't care, really," She paused, adding a bit more pressure to the hilt. "But I will make a deal with you."  
  
Mateo's eyes pleaded with her to continue and when she didn't he spoke.  
  
"Yes, yes. I will agree to anything."  
  
"That is what I like to hear." In the distance, Khasinau chuckled at the scene before him. "We promise to make it look like an old fashioned robbery. No ties to your betrayal. How does that sound?"  
  
"Yes, yes. Please?" His head shook vigorously as the pain in his abdomen became piercing. "The catacombs beneath Santa Trinita, Florence. It was bombed during the war and you must enter from an access on the Via Delle Terme. There are underground passages, not heavily guarded."  
  
"That wasn't so difficult, was it?" She smiled and twisted the knife, creating a small blossom of blood on his shirt.  
  
"One more question," she purred, her free hand caressing Mateo's cheek. "Where can I find the Diary of Bernardo Noccachi?  
  
Mateo closed his eyes and shook his head.  
  
"You know who Noccachi was, don't you?" Mateo shook with fear, more fear than he had shown in their previous negotiations. "Rambaldi's apprentice for almost 10 years. Noccachi's diary is said to contain clues to where several of Rambaldi's inventions are hidden.  
  
Irina released Mateo's left hand and pinned it to the table with her own, tracing the symbol between his thumb and first finger. She used the blade to make shallow cuts along the symbol. And with a scream of the bound man, she pierced the knife through the symbol and into the table.  
  
"The diary?" She asked again and leaned in close. Mateo muttered into her ear and Irina nodded.  
  
"I knew this meeting would be fruitful, Mateo. Thank you for your cooperation." The blade was removed from his hand with another scream and slid into his abdomen. He gasped like a fish out of water and looked her in the eyes.  
  
She turned away, cleaning the blade on a bit of rag from the table. Khasinau released the fading man and carried him to the waiting vehicle outside. Giving directions to the driver to drop Mateo where he'd be found, Khasinau returned to Irina's side and offered her a drink. She slammed the vodka back, stinging her throat as it washed the bile back down.  
  
"Not bad, my darling. And if he's found within the next several hours, there is a good chance he'll live."  
  
"Ah, yes," she agreed. "I'm predicting a trip to Florence soon." Khasinau laughed, the hollowness of the sound did not escape her. "I love the churches there."  
  
Irina smiled and began packing up the evidence of their stay.  
  
Cuvee paraded around their storage facility carrying one of the newly acquired assault rifles.  
  
"A very effective and profitable adventure, Irina, we should send you to negotiate more." He came up behind her and whispered, "We'll have our own private celebration later."  
  
She willed herself to be still and Cuvee, in his arrogance, took that as encouragement. Irina was mentally chiding herself for playing at his courtesan and wondered how soon she could rid herself of this menacing insect.  
  
"Stoppf is due soon with backing from Gemmill Consortium. This will secure us warehousing space is Copenhagen," Losko announced to the gathering. "With Cuvee's position in the Army, which is always an advantage to us, we will be in a good position to exert some force on our opposition in Moscow and in Stalingrad."  
  
"Soon our cooperative will strike fear in our opponents and increase our piece of the pie," Moscowitz crowed.  
  
Irina sat back and filled her glass with another shot of vodka and passed the bottle on. She was beginning to despise these meetings; all that was ever accomplished was a boost to everyone's ego. She was looking for something more tangible.  
  
Bodin sensed that Irina was beginning to get annoyed with delegation from the Black Dawn. They were dismissing her as the representative of the collective and trying to negotiate with him, but he was there as Irina's body guard, no more.  
  
She is the last person who needs a bodyguard, he scoffed to himself. She could kill all of us in the few moments it would take us to realize what was happening.  
  
Her annoyance mounting, she stood quietly back from the table and turned her back to the delegation, showing blatant disregard of their importance. With a blink of the eye, a large knife was imbedded in the table in front of Okundu, the chief negotiator. The rest of the delegation reached for their side arms and Bodin raised his automatic. An uneasy draw stood as Irina leaned into Okundu's face.  
  
"The Man has sent me to negotiate with Black Dawn for protection along your drug routes through Kamchatka in exchange for the weapons specified." She tapped at the list in front of stunned man. "It would not be in your best interests for me to return and report to Him that you were unwilling to speak with his representative. That would not make The Man happy."  
  
"And just who is The Man that you speak of?"  
  
"He is a man with many eyes, deep pockets and much power. If you were to know his identity you would know he is not one to be trifled with and you would tremble with fear of his displeasure." Irina caught the brief question that flitted across Bodin's face. She would need to explain later, but she also knew that he was professional enough to play along with the ruse.  
  
"The Man will not hesitate to kill you and your entire family if you were to displease his Right Hand." Bodin hoped that his little contribution would seal the deal.  
  
Heads across the table bent slightly towards each other and the silence of the room was filled with a hum of conversation not unlike the droning of the insects on a summer's night.  
  
"The Man's terms seem reasonable and Black Dawn will prepare the weapons for shipment." Okundu stood and bowed in respect to Irina, who bowed in return. "We will be in contact when they are ready. Please send our humblest regards to The Man."  
  
The Black Dawn delegation gathered close together, muttering all the while and left the room as a unit.  
  
Irina stood for minutes and then sat heavily in the chair next to her. Bodin checked the doorway to make sure that the delegates had gone and were not planning a surprise attack. Satisfied, he returned and stood next to her, waiting for her to speak.  
  
"They were unwilling to negotiate with a woman, such as their culture, so I decided to improvise and give them someone they would negotiate with. The Man seemed to do the trick." She let a small smile grace her lips.  
  
"Brilliant," Bodin replied. "May I say The Man is very wise?" He bowed to her and she slapped, almost playfully, at his arm. 


End file.
